Posted in Musings

Jigsaw

When does a place stop being your own? When you leave, or when others do? Or with the realization that abstract concepts like home cannot be held down by the strings of concrete imaginations pointing fingers at what it should or should not be? Or by how nothing ever belongs to anyone – no, not even if you have a name tag or a medal or a certificate to show for it, because.. well, because, don’t you see how the fine print at the back reeks of an expiry date?

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